No Safe Place to Breathe
by Deana
Summary: April showers bring May flowers...but they also bring pollen, so Aramis is miserable, especially when another situation severely complicates matters. (My entry for the 'Fete des Mousquetaires' contest for May!)
1. Can't Breathe

.

 **No Safe Place to Breathe  
** By Deana **  
**

My entry for the Fete des Mousquetaires contest for May!

Thank you Fleuramis for thinking up the title for this story!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

April and May of 1630 couldn't possibly have been more opposite than they were.

April was excessively wet, with several days of rain at a time and only a handful of days that were blessed with full sun. It was dreary, constantly cloudy, and very chilly, which was troublesome and depressing.

"April showers bring May flowers," the ever-optimistic d'Artagnan kept saying. He was thrilled to be a musketeer cadet, and nothing could dampen his spirits.

Then, came May, and with it excessive warmth. The trees exploded with growth after having been suppressed by April's weather, and the city of Paris quickly grew infested with mosquitoes…large ones that bit harder than their ancestors.

A baker had come up with a solution that he decided to sell in the marketplace: fresh lemongrass cut and tied in small bundles, to be placed on windowsills to ward-off the insects, who apparently didn't like the citrus scent. It worked even better when the lemongrass was burned, so that was encouraged to do at night, when the mosquitoes were more likely to be out.

The musketeers didn't realize what the man was selling, or they would never have allowed Aramis to set foot in the marketplace that day…or out of the garrison, for that matter, as the lemongrass was now gracing nearly every windowsill in the city.

Aramis was not only known for his deadly reaction to lemongrass*, but also for sneezing through the month of May. It was obvious that something growing was the cause, though he'd never been able to pinpoint exactly what it was. Every year, he simply sneezed over and over, and once the month of June began, it stopped. He knew that he just needed to get through May, and he'd be fine.

His stuffy nose was one of the reasons why he hadn't noticed the lemongrass scent as they rode through Paris. The four of them had gone on an errand for Captain Treville, and he kept sneezing, blinking dizzily each time.

"You better not fall off that horse," said Porthos, as he and Aramis rode behind Athos and d'Artagnan.

Aramis made a face at him. "I won't."

"I wish those doctors had been able to figure out why you get dizzy when you sneeze," Porthos told him.

"They did," said Aramis. "Lasting damage from that ear infection I had."**

"But what _kind_ of damage?" said Porthos. "And will it ever go away?"

Aramis sighed as he sneezed again. "Medical science hasn't advanced that far," he said, blinking again.

Porthos sighed.

As they rode further into Paris, Aramis noticed his breathing growing labored. He couldn't smell the lemongrass in the windows, and his friends weren't noticing the scent for what it was. Once they approached the marketplace, he wanted to stop for some apples and they dismounted, leading their horses through.

Aramis struggled to take a deep breath and was confused when he didn't succeed. He felt like he'd just been running, and subconsciously placed his other hand on his chest as they walked. They reached the apple vendor, but Aramis just stood there, not removing his hand.

"Aramis?" Porthos said.

Aramis blinked before letting go of Bella's reins and taking a sack off the vendor's cart, placing seven apples inside and handing the vendor a coin.

"You don't look well, Aramis," the kind old vendor said.

"Nature's new growth…make me sneeze," Aramis told him, needing to pause in the middle of his sentence.

"Ah," said the vendor. "That's right. Every May, it seems."

Aramis nodded, before tying the sack to his saddle.

The vendor looked at the others. "Make this boy get some rest!" he told them.

"We will," said Athos.

They walked on, leading their horses further through the marketplace.

As Aramis walked, he sneezed again and his breathing grew more difficult. He couldn't understand what was happening, and kept assuming that it would go away. When it didn't, he coughed to try to clear his lungs, but that only made it worse.

Porthos was surprised when Aramis' hand suddenly clamped onto his arm, and he turned towards him.

Aramis looked at him with a frightened expression, breathing heavily.

Seeing uncommon fear on his friend's face sent a chill down Porthos' spine, and he quickly grabbed him. "Aramis? What's wrong?"

"I can't breathe," Aramis said, his voice soft and strained.

"You _what_?!" said d'Artagnan.

Athos grabbed him on the other side. "What did you eat?"

"Nothing," Aramis told him.

Athos wrapped an arm around Aramis and hustled him away from the crowds, sitting him on the steps of someone's doorway without even noticing the bundle of lemongrass on the windowsill less than two feet away. "What happened?" he asked, before digging through his saddlebag.

"I don't know," Aramis said, still breathing heavily. "It started after…we entered…Paris."

Athos took out the bottle of medicine that he carried. "Does it feel like lemongrass exposure?"

"That, or…the problem I had…as a child," Aramis answered, hand on his chest again.

"Problem?" d'Artagnan asked.

"So do we give him that or _not_!?" Porthos nervously asked.

Athos gave no answer, unsure. He suddenly noticed the bundle of grass on the windowsill near their heads, and he grabbed it and stuck his nose in it. "Lemongrass!" he said, handing it to Porthos.

Porthos sniffed it and nodded, before looking all around and seeing it in nearly every window. "It's everywhere!" he said, in shock.

Athos uncorked the bottle and handed it to Aramis, who took a swig of it.

D'Artagnan was baffled and nervous, but he held his tongue, not wanting to distract the others from helping their ailing comrade.

Porthos reached out and pulled Aramis off the step. "We gotta get him out of here," he said.

Athos nodded and they headed back into the marketplace, needing to get through to the other end to make their way to the garrison.

"Lemongrass!" they eventually heard someone exclaim. "Repel the mosquitoes with lemongrass!"

Porthos passed Aramis to Athos before stomping over to the man. "You're the one sellin' that stuff all over town?"

The man shrunk back, startled at what almost looked like a bear stalking towards him. "Yes?"

"Well it ends _now_ ," Porthos said. "And don't sell it to any musketeers! Lemongrass is deadly to one of us and he can hardly breathe just from bein' _near_ it out here!"

The man frowned. "I already have."

"To how many?" Porthos growled.

"I don't remember!" the vendor answered.

"Well get rid of it!" Porthos said, before turning around and stalking away, hurrying to catch up with the others and wrapping his arm around Aramis again.

Aramis was still breathing heavily, but the medicine appeared to have helped a little.

Once out of the marketplace, Porthos hoisted Aramis onto his horse and they rode the rest of the way back. As they entered the garrison, they could see the lemongrass on various windowsills.

"I'm gonna kill them _all_!" Porthos muttered.

"Some of them might not know," said Athos. "Remember that."

"The ones who do have no excuse for bringing that stuff into the garrison!" Porthos said they stopped at the stable and he and jumped down to help Aramis.

"They might think that since it's not in Aramis' food, it can't hurt him," said Athos as he dismounted.

Their marksman looked pale and was still breathing too heavily. He let Porthos help him down, and he stood leaning against his horse. A soft wheeze in his breath was audible.

D'Artagnan was bursting with questions, but continued to remain silent until the crisis was past.

Wind suddenly blew by their faces, coming from the direction of the marketplace.

"Figures," said Porthos, holding onto their friend. "It's probably even blown inside his room!"

"Fetch the captain," Athos told d'Artagnan. "We'll be in the stable."

D'Artagnan nodded and ran off. He headed up the stairs to Treville's office and knocked, entering when a voice called out.

"Yes, d'Artagnan?" Treville said, looking up from his paperwork.

D'Artagnan was suddenly at a loss to describe what had happened, as confused as he still was. "Athos told me to fetch you; the others are in the stable."

Treville stood. "What happened?"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "Aramis is having trouble breathing; they mentioned lemongrass as being the cause—"

Treville ran past him and was out the door in a second with d'Artagnan following.

"Didn't they have a bottle of his medicine?!" Treville said, sticking a hand into his breast pocket.

"They _gave_ him medicine," d'Artagnan said. "But someone is selling lemongrass to repel the mosquitoes; it's all over Paris on windowsills."

Treville made a sound of shock. They reached the stable and headed inside, to find Aramis sitting on a bale of hay in the very back of the stable.

Treville grabbed him by his upper arms. "Aramis?"

A slight smile graced Aramis' handsome face. "Not...dying," he said.

Treville squeezed his arms, not sure whether to laugh or scold him for his words. He could hear the wheeze and looked at the others.

Athos explained the situation and mentioned the lemongrass that they could see in the garrison.

Treville closed his eyes in shock and shook his head. "Serge will have a _fit,_ " he said.

The others nodded, and d'Artagnan filed away another question in his mind.

"I'll get it out of everyone's windows," Treville said. "And make an announcement at evening muster." He looked at Aramis. "What can we do to help you? If it's in the air, how are you going to prevent your throat from closing up? Do we need to send you away from Paris until the city isn't covered in lemongrass?"

Aramis made a face, not wanting to leave. "Only as...last resort." He coughed and they could hear the wheeze.

"But there's no safe place here for you to breathe!" said d'Artagnan.

"You'll be livin' on that special tea of yours," said Porthos.

"He needs it _now,_ " said Treville. "D'Artagnan, come with me."

D'Artagnan nodded and threw a concerned look at Aramis before following. "What exactly is wrong with him?"

Treville sighed before explaining Aramis' deadly reaction to lemongrass. "On top of that," he said. "He had a bad set of lungs as a child, often suffering from breathlessness which he thankfully grew out of as he got older, but it comes back to haunt him when he's ill or if he's exposed to lemongrass."

D'Artagnan was surprised. "There was a child like that in my village once. He eventually died."

Treville nodded. "Aramis was lucky." He looked at all the windows of the musketeers' living quarters before gesturing towards the bundles of lemongrass. "Retrieve all of those and put them in a sack in my office. I'll get the tea that Aramis needs."

D'Artagnan nodded, though he didn't enjoy the fact that he was going into everyone's rooms without their knowledge.

"Captain's orders," Treville then said, as if reading his mind.

D'Artagnan nodded...he'd only be doing what he'd been told. "Right," he said, before heading inside.

It took him longer than he expected; when he was though, he went outside and looked up to see that he'd missed two, so he had to go back in. Once had had them all, he tied the sack and placed it in Treville's office before heading back to the stable.

He heard Aramis sneeze as he walked in, and found him still sitting in the same place in the back, as far from the scent of the lemongrass as he could possibly be. He had an empty cup in his hand, but his breathing didn't seem much easier.

"They're all gone," d'Artagnan said. "Unless someone else bought it and hasn't put it in their window yet."

Treville nodded.

"Thank you," Aramis said.

D'Artagnan nodded before asking the others, "How long does he have to stay in here?"

"After Serge had his predictable fit, he went into Aramis' room to clean it, in case any lemongrass got in through his window," Treville said.

"My window's closed..." Aramis said. "To keep out whatever...makes me sneeze."

"Do not speak," Athos scolded.

D'Artagnan didn't know them all well enough to read them the way they could read each other, but that was the first time that he'd heard real concern in Athos' voice.

"It still could've gotten in through the cracks," said Porthos. "You know that."

Aramis nodded, he just felt sorry for the elderly cook at the thought of him limping around trying to eradicate something that he couldn't even see. He tried to take a deep breath, but it only succeeded in making him cough.

Porthos squeezed his shoulder, and Treville headed out of the barn. "I'll go help Serge," he said as he left.

The three musketeers were left waiting, with d'Artagnan staring at Aramis.

"You have...questions," Aramis said, trying to catch his breath.

Porthos *tsked* "Questions that you haven't enough air to answer."

"Forgive me," said d'Artagnan. "To watch you unable to breathe was frightening."

"For us all," said Porthos.

"I'm used to it," said Aramis.

"Yet you're able to be a musketeer?" said d'Artagnan. "I've seen you fight many times and never have trouble breathing."

Athos reached out to put a hand on Aramis' arm in warning not to continue speaking. "He never has trouble," he told d'Artagnan. "Unless ill or suffering the effects of lemongrass."

D'Artagnan nodded. "The captain said that too. I just find the lemongrass thing to be..." he shrugged while looking for a word.

"Crazy," said Porthos. "It _is_...for a substance to be fine for some people but deadly to others. 'Crazy' is definitely the word."

Aramis suddenly sneezed.

"It's like _that_ ," Porthos said. "Whatever tree or flower or whatever it is that makes 'im sneeze...the lemongrass does much worse."

D'Artagnan nodded.

Treville and Serge came back not long after, with Serge clucking over Aramis like a mother hen. He was obviously very distressed and d'Artagnan felt that there was another story that needed telling.*

The six of them made their way to Aramis' room with Aramis holding a clean towel over his mouth and nose that Serge had brought, to keep him from inhaling any lemongrass that was in the air. Now that everyone knew about it, they realized that the whole garrison smelled like cut lemons.

Once in Aramis' room, Serge took charge. "I wiped everything down and we changed your sheets. That's your spare blanket instead that was in your chest," he said, pointing at the bed. Your shutters were closed but not bolted, so one of them was ajar. They're bolted now."

"Thank you, Serge," Aramis said, putting a hand on his arm.

Serge smiled and patted his hand. "Anything you need from me, send one of them and I'll do it."

Aramis nodded.

D'Artagnan watched him go, hearing a sniff and wondering if the spring air made _him_ sneeze too.

Another cough from Aramis had d'Artagnan turn to see him sit in the chair beside the small table in his room.

"What are you doin'?" Porthos asked. "To bed with you!"

Aramis shook his head. "I'm all right," he said, though the wheeze contradicted him. He tried to inhale deeper and put a hand on his chest. "Could use...more tea, though..."

Porthos headed towards the fireplace. "You're gonna be the death of me!" he commented.

D'Artagnan watched Aramis' face, seeing the strain in his expression. "Does it hurt?"

Aramis opened his mouth to say 'no', but changed his mind at Athos' stern look. "A little," he admitted.

Porthos came back with the tea and handed it to Aramis, watching worriedly as he drank it.

Aramis noticed how nervous everyone was. "Not dying," he repeated.

Treville looked at Athos. "Do you have his medicine with you?"

Athos held it up.

"Aramis," Treville said. "With the lemongrass in the air, will you keep needing doses of that or will just the tea suffice?"

Aramis hesitated. "I might need it."

In other words, he thought it possible that his throat could still try to close up.

Aramis suddenly sneezed and took a gasping breath.

Porthos grabbed him by the shoulder. "I think my heart's gonna give out!"

Athos sighed. "We should ask the doctor who prescribed the medicine what to do," he said.

Treville nodded. "I'll have someone fetch him. In the meantime, Aramis...you should leave everything you're wearing outside in the hall and I'll have it all cleaned. Each of us might be covered in lemongrass for all we know...even if not, we're coated in whatever is making you sneeze, and you don't need that too right now."

Aramis saw the wisdom in that and nodded.

Five minutes later, his clothes were changed and he was sitting on the side of his bed drinking more tea. His hair was up in all directions after he'd brushed it with a wet comb outside in the hall, but his friends couldn't find any humor in the situation.

Athos and Porthos left one at a time to change their clothes too, and the doctor soon came and hurried inside with Treville. "You were the first thing I thought of today when I saw the lemongrass infestation!" the doctor exclaimed to Aramis. "I was literally on my way here when your messenger found me! How is your breathing?"

"Not normal," Aramis answered.

"He needed the medicine when we rode through the marketplace," said Porthos.

The doctor nodded. "I'm not surprised. I shook my clothes out in the hall to avoid filling your room with it," he told Aramis.

"What we need to know," said Treville. "Is how often is it safe for him to take the medicine?"

The doctor sighed. "It's made from arsenic, as you know. The dosage is small, at least, so twice a day should be fine. If he needs it a third time, let him have it, but then send for me immediately."

Fear shot through each of the musketeers.

"How many times has he had it today?" the doctor asked.

"Just the once," said Athos.

"How long ago?"

"About an hour."

The doctor nodded. "There's a special tea he can drink made from a certain bark—"

"This?" said Porthos. He headed towards the fireplace and grabbed the pot, bringing it back to show him.

The doctor nodded. "Yes, he can drink as much of that as he wishes. It'll help to keep his lungs open."

Aramis suddenly sneezed twice in a row, closing his eyes with a wince.

"The spring air makes him sneeze?" said the doctor.

Everyone nodded.

"I'm not surprised," said the doctor. "People who have reactions to a substance usually react to others, also. The spring air becomes laden with what's called 'pollen'. Some people can't tolerate it, while others are perfectly fine."

"Pollen?" said Porthos.

"I've been reading about it," said the doctor. "You know when your horse gets covered with a greenish powder? That's pollen. It comes from blooming trees and flowers."

Aramis suddenly coughed, and they could hear the wheeze in his breath.

Porthos poured him more tea, and they watched him anxiously as he drank it.

"You need rest," the doctor said. "Get as much of it as you can, and stay inside unless it rains. I'll make it my mission to rid the city of as much lemongrass as I can."

"The baker," said Porthos. "The idiot who was selling it..."

The doctor nodded. "I'll have words with him when I leave here." He looked at Aramis again. "Are you all right? How hard is it to breathe, exactly? The _truth_."

Aramis took as deep a breath as he could, so they could see. It wasn't very deep and ended with him coughing. "That hard," he said. "It could...be worse."

"Could be _better_ ," said Porthos.

"Still," said the doctor. "The tea is obviously helping. How much of a supply do you have?"

In answer, Athos opened the chest at the end of the bed and took out a large bundle.

The doctor was surprised.

"His lungs were bad as a child," Athos explained. "It comes back to haunt him when ill."

The doctor nodded. "It all begins to make sense," he said. "Keep the tea brewing at all times. Try it first before resorting to the medicine. If you need me day or night, don't hesitate; I don't care what time it is."

The doctor's vehemence was concerning, proving the seriousness of the situation.

Exchanging nervous glances, the musketeers all nodded, desperately hoping that they _wouldn't_ need him again.

TBC

* 'Hidden Danger', story id: 12152923

** 'Off-Balance', story id: 12239330


	2. The Wrath of Porthos

Aramis napped for a couple of hours, his breathing wheezy. He woke when Treville called muster, and listened as their captain scolded the men outside.

"How many of you didn't know that Aramis has a deadly reaction to lemongrass?" he shouted, to make himself heard to everyone.

Aramis sighed with embarrassment.

Someone must've raised their hand, because Treville shouted, "Well the rest of you _did_ know, yet you brought it into the garrison!"

Someone must've spoken, for there was a pause before Treville spoke again. "He doesn't only have to eat it; he can't inhale it either. Your task before supper is to give me every blade of lemongrass that you bought; we already removed it from the windows. Then you're all to go into the city, knock on doors, and confiscate it. Put it all into sacks and return them here so we can properly dispose of it. Don't get any ideas of burning it, or that'll kill Aramis quicker than _eating_ it would."

Aramis and the others were relieved that Treville had thought of that.

"Every new recruit from now on needs to be informed, and I'm tasking us all with that responsibility," said Treville. "I should have told you two, but it slipped my mind and I have no excuse."

Someone else spoke but the friends inside Aramis' room couldn't hear it.

"Aramis was felled by inhaling it in the marketplace," was Treville's answer. "He's having difficulty breathing but we're keeping it at bay with his medicine and a special tea. He'll remain inside until the lemongrass is eradicated or on days of rain...yes, I'll convey your apologies and well-wishes. Dismissed!"

Aramis sighed again, and it made him cough.

Porthos dashed for the tea and brought it back, hovering as Aramis drank it.

"I'm all right," Aramis told them afterwards. His wheeze contradicted him.

Treville came in a few minutes later. "You heard that?"

They all nodded.

"I'm sorry that the recent recruits weren't told," Treville said.

Aramis shook your head. "Not your fault...they know _now_."

That evening, Athos had a sense of foreboding. He wasn't usually a nervous person, but as he watched Aramis and Porthos play cards, he couldn't help but remember all the times in the past that Aramis'd had trouble breathing, whether he'd been sick or suffering the effects of lemongrass. It was always a frightening situation to watch a person struggle to breathe, and it was even more so when it happened from such a dangerous cause.

Aramis laughed when Porthos made a bad attempt at cheating, but he coughed afterwards, making Athos' heart skip a beat. Aramis was pale and still wheezing, and Athos wondered if—or when—Aramis would need the arsenic medicine again.

The night was long. Aramis' slumber was restless; he had to sleep in a half-sitting up position to make breathing easier. He woke coughing a few times, but went back to sleep after drinking more tea.

Morning came, and with it a warm, dry wind. The foreboding that had filled Athos all night abated slightly with the daylight, but it came back quickly when he realized that they had the entire day to get through. Would Aramis need the medicine, and if so, how many times?

Athos had never been a religious man, but he suddenly realized why Aramis prayed so often.

As they watched Aramis sleep and listened to the soft wheeze coming from his lungs, Athos broke his gaze to look at Porthos, seeing open anxiety on his face. "Aramis will be fine," he found himself saying...trying to convince himself as well as his friend.

Porthos gave him a slight smile. "Do you think he'll need that stuff again?" he asked, gesturing towards the bottle of medicine on the nightstand.

Athos sighed, not sure how to answer. "I hope not."

Porthos nodded, echoing the sigh.

Aramis slept for another hour before the sound of the wind suddenly rattled the shutters and woke him. He opened his eyes and looked at the others, before giving a loud sneeze.

Porthos went for the tea on the fireplace, and Athos handed their friend a handkerchief. "How are you feeling?"

Aramis closed his eyes for a moment against his usual dizziness from sneezing. "All right," he said, before blowing his nose. He gave a cough at the end and cleared his throat.

"Your lungs?" Porthos asked as he handed him the cup.

Aramis took a deeper breath before coughing again and taking a sip of the tea. "A little tight," he admitted, knowing that they wouldn't appreciate a lie. The shutters rattled again and he said, "Windy?"

"Very," said Porthos.

Aramis drank the whole cup before handing it to Porthos. "We need rain," he said, leaning his head back again and closing his eyes.

The others knew that he didn't want to stay cooped-up in his room.

Aramis sneezed again and kept his eyes closed.

Treville personally delivered their breakfast. "That wind is ridiculous," he commented. "How are you feeling?"

"All right," Aramis told him.

Treville looked skeptical as he placed the tray on the nightstand.

Aramis appeared to do fine through breakfast, but an hour later, they could see that his breathing seemed heavier.

"Aramis?" Athos said, his feeling of foreboding rushing back.

Aramis looked at him with an unsure expression.

Porthos grabbed the bottle. "Do you need this?"

Aramis tried to take a deeper breath. "Tea?" he answered.

Athos quickly went to get it and Porthos sat on the bed and grabbed Aramis' shoulder.

It was obvious that Aramis' breathing was getting harder, and Porthos couldn't understand why, considering that the other musketeers had confiscated the lemongrass bundles in a perimeter around the garrison.

Aramis was growing paler, and put a hand on his chest.

The sight sent a chill down Porthos' spine. "Hurry up, Athos!"

Ten seconds later, Athos was back, holding the cup to their friend's lips.

Aramis drank it, needing to stop in the middle to breathe. He coughed and pulled in a labored breath, pushing Athos' arm away instead of drinking the rest.

"Aramis?" Athos said.

Aramis succeed in pulling in more air before letting go so Athos could give him the tea again. He finished it all and pushed Athos' arm away once more as he leaned forward a little, trying to breathe deeper.

If it had been up to Athos or Porthos, they would've already made Aramis take the medicine, but it was obvious that Aramis was trying to see if the tea would work first. They all knew that if Aramis took it now, he only had one more safe chance to take it that day. If he needed it a third time, he could be in big trouble.

The tea wasn't working, as was obvious by the louder wheezing coming from their friend and the effort that it was taking him to breathe.

"Aramis, take this!" Porthos exclaimed.

Aramis lifted his head and reached out a shaky hand.

Rather than risk letting him drop it, Porthos reached over and placed the bottle to his lips.

Aramis swallowed it before hanging his head again and trying to inhale. For a few long seconds, his breathing got worse and he wrapped one hand around his throat in desperation before the progression halted.

Athos and Porthos watched worriedly, holding onto their friend tightly as they waited for his breathing to improve. It seemed to take forever until Aramis was able to pull in more air. His face had lost all color and it was a frightening sight.

Aramis eventually removed his hand from his throat and clasped his friend's arms instead.

"You all right?" Porthos fearfully asked.

Aramis nodded.

The shutters rattled again, and Athos and Porthos looked at each other.

Athos squeezed Aramis' arm before getting up and going to the window. As the wind blew, he could feel it coming in through the cracks. "Air is getting in," he said.

"So the wind is blowing lemongrass inside!" said Porthos. "But there shouldn't be anymore around the garrison." He suddenly came to a realization. "Unless..."

"Unless that man is still selling it," said Athos. He went back to the bed and looked at Aramis to make sure that he was still getting better. "I'll be right back."

Aramis looked up at him and nodded.

"No," said Porthos. _"I'll_ go. I'm the one who told 'im to stop sellin' it. This time I'll make _sure_ he does!" He squeezed Aramis' arm before letting go and heading out of the room.

Treville saw him coming from the other end of the wall and easily recognized the thunderous look on his face. "What happened?!" he exclaimed.

"Aramis had another attack," Porthos told him, not stopping as he passed. "If that man is still sellin' it, he's dead!"

Treville hesitated, unsure if he should go check on Aramis or follow Porthos to make sure he didn't really kill the vendor.

Porthos strode out of the garrison and headed into the market, stomping to where he'd seen the vendor the day before. Sure enough, he spotted him handing a bundle of lemongrass to a buyer. "YOU!" he bellowed.

Both the vendor and customer jumped and turned around.

"You drop that _right now_ ," Porthos said, drawing his sword.

The customer obeyed, practically tossing it to the ground and running away.

The vendor raised his arms as Porthos stomped over to him pointing his sword.

"What did I tell you yesterday?" Porthos growled, pointing the tip of his sword against the man's chest.

"T—t—to s-stop selling the...the lemongrass..." the man stuttered.

Porthos pressed his sword deeper, forcing the man to back up. "Do you know what it's like to be unable to breathe?" he asked.

The man shook his head.

Porthos glared at him. "Can you imagine how it feels for your throat to swell up so bad that no air can get past it?"

The man shook his head again.

"Pain grips the lungs as you gasp like a fish outta water," Porthos continued. "The blood pounds in your head. All the color leaves your face and your lips turn blue. Can you imagine the fear?" he asked. "Thinkin' you're gonna suffocate to death?"

The man again shook his head.

"Hold your breath!" Porthos shouted.

The man took a deep breath and held it.

"Not like that," said Porthos. "Let it out!"

He did.

"NOW, don't breathe until I say so!" said Porthos.

The man obeyed, and Porthos could see his struggle only seconds later.

"How would you like that to happen to you _every single time_ you're exposed to lemongrass?" Porthos said.

The man's face turned red as his lungs fought for air.

Porthos waited, letting him suffer a while longer. "Then later, after drinking _arsenic_ to save your life, all you do is wheeze because the recovery is slow...and then the next morning, when you're finally startin' to feel a little better, it happens _again_ because some _idiot_ is still sellin' it!"

The vendor was desperate to breathe by now, his face turning purple.

"Are you gonna stop sellin' it now?!" Porthos asked.

The man fervently nodded.

"Pack it all up," Porthos told him.

The man inhaled with a gasp.

"I didn't say you could breathe yet!" said Porthos.

The man looked at him with shock and was forced to hold his breath again as he put all the lemongrass into a sack, which he handed to Porthos.

"And _this_ is for nearly killin' my closest friend," Porthos said, before punching the man in the face.

The entire market was watching, staring in shock.

"If any of you bought lemongrass, put it in here!" Porthos bellowed.

A dozen people rushed over and obeyed, dropping it in and running away.

Without another glance at the now-unconscious vendor, Porthos walked back to the garrison, spotting more lemongrass bundles on windowsills as he went. He made sure the sack was tied up tight before dropping it into Treville's office and going back to Aramis' room. He brushed off his clothes before going in, finding Athos, Treville, and d'Artagnan sitting beside the bed.

Aramis was reclined upright in the same position, still breathing heavily, but no longer fighting to breathe.

"Did you...kill him...?" Aramis asked.

"Not _yet_ ," said Porthos. "You all right?"

Aramis nodded.

Porthos sighed with relief before dropping into his chair and taking a deep breath before looking at Treville. "The lemongrass is everywhere again."

Treville made a sound of dismay before quickly heading out of the room.

Athos and Porthos watched Aramis, who was still not breathing correctly. They could tell that he was trying to make it less obvious, for their sake.

"How did you originally find out what lemongrass does to you?" d'Artagnan asked, before shaking his head. "Nevermind, don't talk."

"Chewed a piece of grass," Aramis answered anyway. "Couldn't breathe."

"You didn't have this medicine then, I assume," said Athos, holding the bottle. "How did you survive?"

"Wasn't as bad," Aramis told him, using as few words as possible. "Worsened later."

"So you mean every time you were exposed to it, the effect was worse?" Porthos asked.

Aramis nodded.

"Thank God for that stuff," Porthos said, gesturing to the bottle. "At least the attack you just had was stopped quick."

Aramis fervently nodded.

Treville called an emergency muster and had the rest of the musketeers commandeer the lemongrass in a perimeter around the garrison again. He also went into the marketplace himself to make sure the vendor wasn't still selling it; to his relief, the man was gone.

Aramis' breathing improved as the day went on, but his friends kept him inside his room even though he wanted to eat in the kitchen. He slept better that night, and the next morning, to his joy, there was a light rain; a _very_ light rain.

"How do we know it's good enough, though?" Porthos asked. "It's more like a sprinkle."

"It's a _shower_ ," said Aramis. He got out of bed and got dressed, and Porthos fed him two cups of his special tea and held onto the bottle of medicine like a lifeline as they headed out of his room and into the courtyard.

Aramis didn't even care that he was getting wet; he was so happy to be outside.

The other two watched him, hoping that the rain would eventually get heavy enough to wash all the pollen and lemongrass away.

It was not to be though, and Aramis was forced to go back inside not long after, when the rain stopped. They dropped by Treville's office rather than go back to his room.

"I'm bored," Aramis told him.

Treville smiled slightly, not surprised. "How is your breathing?"

"Fine."

" _Almost_ fine," Athos amended.

"Any paperwork I can do for you?" Aramis asked. "If I'm stuck inside, I might as well be useful."

Treville looked at the stacks of paper...some of which his musketeers shouldn't even be allowed to _see._ But if he couldn't trust his three best men, who else could he trust? "Possibly," he said.

Aramis smiled.

Minutes later, Aramis was situated at Treville's desk while their captain took the opportunity to get some other things done. Both Athos and Porthos had wanted to stay with him, but Treville needed them elsewhere and they left Aramis with his special tea warming over the fire and the bottle of medicine within reach...as well as another bottle inside his pocket.

Aramis easily filled out the palace reports that had been piling up on Treville' desk. He knew the trust that Treville was putting in him, and he was efficient and precise. He enjoyed it, even, though he did eventually grow tired.

Yawning, Aramis put his elbows on the desk and rubbed his face. His breathing still wasn't completely back to normal, and it was irritating.

"Are you all right?"

Aramis looked up, finding Serge hurrying into the room carrying a tray. He nodded as Serge placed it on the desk. "I'm fine."

Serge looked scared. "Are you sure?" he asked, grabbing Aramis' shoulder.

Aramis nodded. "Just getting tired."

Serge studied him for a minute. He'd never forget the time that he'd unknowingly spilled lemongrass in a recipe and nearly killed Aramis. It had haunted his dreams many times since then.*

Aramis knew what he was thinking about. "I'm all right, Serge."

The elderly cook nodded, squeezing his shoulder before letting go. "I brought your lunch. Athos and Porthos were needed for guard duty at the palace, and d'Artagnan went with them since you couldn't. We're not sure when they'll be back."

Aramis nodded, knowing that they were probably worrying about him.

Serge took the cover off the tray. "I wasn't sure if there was still any swelling in your throat, so I figured I'd still give you something that's easy to swallow."

Aramis smiled. "Thank you, I appreciate it."

Serge nodded and gestured towards the door. "I gotta go feed the others...wanted you to have yours first."

"I'm not surprised, I know that I'm your favorite," Aramis said.

Serge chuckled. "True, true!" With that, he left.

Aramis chuckled too, holding in a cough so as not to alarm him.

The others didn't return until nearly supper, and it was impossible not to recognize the pounding steps of Porthos on the stairs. The door flew open as they came in, and Porthos appeared surprised to see Treville there, as if having forgotten all about him. "Sorry," he said, realizing that he'd just burst in without knocking.

Treville smiled slightly. "I'll let it go _this_ time."

Aramis chuckled as his friends headed over to him. "I'm fine," he said, before they could inquire.

"Did you need the medicine?" Porthos asked.

Aramis shook his head. "No."

Everyone sighed with relief, and Porthos chuckled at the sight of Aramis still sitting behind Treville's desk. "You like that chair, eh?"

Aramis smiled. "It _is_ rather comfortable."

"I might let you _stay_ there," Treville said, from where he was perched on the side of the desk. "Look how much he got done," he said, gesturing to the pile of papers near his knee. "It might've taken me a _week_ to do all that, between everything else."

"You may have found a new calling," Athos told Aramis.

"Now I know what to do with you the _next_ time you're recovering from something and grow bored," Treville said.

Aramis smiled. "Anything I can do to be useful!"

Everyone was in good spirits that night as they ate supper, still in Aramis' room just in case there was still lemongrass and pollen in the air.

Aramis slept fine that night, and he felt good the next morning aside from some stuffiness, which he knew he'd have to deal with until June anyway.

"Can I go with them?" Aramis asked Treville, after they were called again to stand guard duty in the palace.

Treville hesitated.

"The lemongrass shouldn't be an issue any longer," Aramis told him. "My only situation now is my usual May malady, which doesn't impede my duty."

Porthos opened his mouth to mention the dizziness when he sneezed, but Aramis kicked him before he had a chance.

Treville nodded. "All right. You have his medicine?" he asked Athos and Porthos.

They both nodded.

"As do I," said Aramis, thinking it amusing that they didn't ask _him_ , as if he was unable to think of using his own should he require it.

Treville nodded. "All right."

Ten minutes later, the three musketeers were riding out of the stable.

D'Artagnan, not needed that day to fill in for Aramis, watched them leave as he stood beside Treville. They both gave each other a glance as if hoping that nothing went wrong...

TBC

* 'Hidden Danger', story id: 12152923


	3. Almost Lost Him

"How are you feeling?" Athos asked Aramis as they rode.

"ACHOO!" *sniff*

"Nevermind."

The ride to the palace was uneventful, and they were relieved to only see a few windows with the lemongrass in them, and they were nowhere near the garrison. Near-panic was Porthos' first reaction at the sight, but Aramis simply held a handkerchief in front of his mouth and nose and sped up his horse. They arrived without incident, and all-but herded Aramis inside.

Once there, they took their usual place in the throne room and stood guard while Louis held court.

Aramis sneezed here and there, but he managed to do it quietly, with a mere *fft!* escaping each time. Every sneeze made him dizzy, and he eventually realized that his friends were standing close enough for their arms to touch his own, as if making sure he didn't sway.

It was humorous, really.

Aramis eventually wished he'd had some of his tea with them. He grew more congested as time went on, and his lungs started to feel a little heavy. He dismissed it as part of his intolerance to the pollen and knew that it would get better in a couple of weeks once May ended.

Finally, Louis called a recess for luncheon, and they all headed for the dining hall.

Aramis blew his nose the first chance he got.

"Doin' okay?" Porthos asked.

"No worse than usual for the month of May," Aramis answered.

Porthos nodded, though he wished that his friend didn't have to suffer like that every year.

The musketeers stood by as the king was seated and his courtiers sat down.

"Open the curtains," the king told one of his servants. "It's too warm in here!"

Aramis inwardly sighed: more pollen.

A delightful wind filled the room, and it felt good, despite the pollen it was bringing inside.

Aramis instantly grew stuffier, and his throat felt thick. He tried to discreetly clear it, assuming it was mucus, but it didn't work. He looked towards the windows, and was shocked at what he saw: lemongrass sat on every sill.

Rather than disrupt the king, he whispered, "I'll be right back," to his friends and quietly walked to a door behind the king in the corner, so he wouldn't notice. The room he entered had lemongrass in the windows too, and Aramis closed the door with a gasp as he tried to breathe. All he did was inhale more lemongrass, and he dropped into a chair and shoved his hand into a pocket to get his bottle of medicine...

...but it wasn't there.

Aramis frantically searched his pockets to no avail, realizing that he must've dropped it.

Quickly standing, he headed back towards the door, but even just two steps was too much exertion for a body that was getting barely any oxygen. His brain spun in circles as his lungs fought for air that couldn't make it past his rapidly-swelling throat, but desperation fueled him for the remaining few steps and he fell against the door, grabbing it and pulling it open.

The backwards motion was too much for his oxygen-deprived brain and his equilibrium skewed madly, dropping him to the floor in a heap as he gasped desperately. He doubted that anyone had seen him, but he hoped that someone had at least heard the *thump*.

Running footsteps were suddenly heard, and Porthos' wonderful voice. "Aramis!"

Closing his eyes, Aramis would've sighed with relief if he'd had any air to do that with.

Porthos quickly knelt and pulled his friend into his arms, glancing at Athos to make sure he was getting out his bottle of medicine.

Athos had it out before he even knelt. "Did you already take any?!" he wisely asked, not knowing that Aramis' bottle was gone.

Aramis shook his head, clutching his throat as he gasped for air.

Athos quickly put it to his lips and his heart nearly seized in his chest when it spilled down either side of Aramis' mouth when he was unable to swallow it.

"No Aramis, no!" said Porthos, giving his friend a shake.

"Someone call a physician!" the king shouted. "And Captain Treville!"

Servants scattered, and Porthos suddenly spotted the lemongrass. "Knock those out the windows!" he exclaimed.

Various people obeyed, though they didn't understand why.

Athos tried to pour more medicine into Aramis' mouth, but he still couldn't swallow it. "Aramis!" he exclaimed with desperation.

Aramis wished he could've said 'I'm trying!' Instead, he grabbed Athos' arm and made a motion as if cutting it.

Somehow, Athos understood. "Do you have your bottle!" he asked Porthos.

Porthos fished into his pocket and pulled it out.

"Get him to drink it," Athos said, digging into his pockets and taking his knife off his belt. "Someone bring me some alcohol!" he exclaimed. "Quickly!"

One of the men obeyed as Athos sliced Aramis' sleeve up the seam and held out the knife. "Pour it!"

The man complied and Athos took it back before slicing a cut into Aramis' forearm.

Porthos kept trying to make Aramis swallow the medicine, and it appeared that the sudden pain somehow made their suffering friend succeed. "He got some!" Porthos exclaimed.

Athos poured his bottle of medicine over the cloth and slapped it onto the cut he'd made.

Aramis gave another gasp, his lips blue by now and his face as white as the snow.

"Keep tryin'," Porthos said, holding the bottle to his lips again. "Drink it, Aramis!"

The crowd of people were stunned at the display, some of the women having turned away.

Aramis' eyes kept sliding shut as he gasped for air, and his struggle to breathe grew weaker.

"Don't you dare, Aramis!" said Porthos. With that, he dumped half the bottle of medicine into his friend's mouth.

Aramis choked and managed to swallow some of it.

Porthos glanced at Athos with relief before looking at Aramis again and seeing his eyes drift shut. "Stay with us!" he said, giving him a shake to prompt his eyes back open.

Aramis barely could. Voices were fading into the background and there was a loud rushing sound filling his ears. He felt himself passing out, but fear that it would be his last breath kept him conscious.

Athos removed the bloody towel from the deep cut on Aramis' arm and folded it to a clean area before pouring more of the medicine on it and holding it to the cut, hoping that it was getting into his friend's bloodstream.

"How much of that stuff is _too_ much?!" Porthos asked.

Athos shook his head. "I don't think there can _be_ too much this time."

A minute later, Aramis felt a change and knew that the swelling in his throat was finally responding. Now that he knew that he would live, he let his consciousness go.

"Aramis!" Porthos fearfully exclaimed.

It was obvious that their friend still lived, as the awful sound of his restricted breathing filled the air.

The king turned to another of his servants. "Take them to one of the guest rooms," he said, pale with shock at what he'd just witnessed.

Porthos carefully lifted Aramis into his arms and he and Athos followed him out the door. They were relieved to lie Aramis on a bed and they sat beside him, watching him fight to breathe and finding that his lips weren't quite as blue.

The servant left but came back moments later with a pitcher of water, which he left on the table beside the bed.

Porthos was shaking. He looked at Athos and shook his head. "Lemongrass in the palace!" he growled.

Athos shook his head too, speechless.

"An' where's Aramis' bottle?!" Porthos exclaimed. "Did he lose it?"

"That appears likely," Athos answered.

Porthos sighed heavily.

It wasn't very long before the door was thrown open and Treville hurried in with d'Artagnan beside him. "What happened?!" he exclaimed.

"The dining room had lemongrass in all the windows!" Porthos told him. "The wind was blowin' it right in! We didn't see it, and Aramis suddenly said he'd be right back and went into the next room...probably to take his medicine without anyone knowin'...but we think he lost his bottle because we heard a noise and found him on the floor, with lemongrass in that room too." He dropped his face into his hand. "We almost lost 'im this time, captain!"

Everyone was silent for a moment, before d'Artagnan said, "What's that?" pointing to Aramis' bleeding arm, which Athos still had the towel on.

Athos explained what he'd done, and the others cringed.

A doctor arrived a few minutes later and praised their actions. "This likely saved his life," he said, looking at Aramis' arm. "By getting the medicine into his bloodstream."

"It needs stitching," said Athos.

The doctor nodded and got to work, and Aramis stirred when he felt the prick of the needle.

"Hey, take it easy," said Porthos, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder.

Aramis' breathing sounded terrible; even worse now that he was conscious. He blinked at them with confusion before weakly raising his other arm to clasp a hand around his still-swollen throat.

Porthos gently removed it, turning slightly to see Athos fetching the tea that was warming on the fire.

Aramis gave a brief cough and it was obvious that he was suppressing it. He blinked again before looking at the long cut on his left forearm.

"Can you speak?" the doctor asked, not looking away from his work as he stitched.

Aramis tried, but nothing came out. He coughed again with a wheeze and a wince.

Athos brought the tea back and helped him drink it, pulling the cup away when Aramis made a face at the difficulty that he had swallowing. He choked and some of it spilled down one side of his face, but Treville was there with a cloth and he wiped it away.

"Small sips," Treville told him.

Aramis obeyed, taking only a few sips before he was forced to stop just to breathe. His face was impossibly pale and he closed his eyes, still wincing.

Seeing the pain in his face was distressing to all of them.

"Should he take more of the medicine?" d'Artagnan asked.

The doctor shook his head. "Not right now, if you really used as much as what's missing from the bottles. Let me finish with his arm first and I'll assess him."

Aramis remained still, obediently sipping the tea and still not talking.

After the doctor finally bandaged his patient's arm, the awful sound of Aramis' breathing still had yet to change. His lips were no longer blue but there was no color in his face.

The doctor had Porthos sit Aramis forward so he could lay an ear on his back to listen to his lungs. "His struggle is evident," the doctor said. "His throat is still very swollen and there is some congestion in his lungs."

"The pollen makes him congested every spring," said Treville.

The doctor nodded. "I'm not surprised. I would advise taking him back to the garrison and putting him to bed...there is still some residual lemongrass in the air here."

Athos and Porthos looked at each other with dismay, having forgotten that it was probably all over their clothes.

"Keep his mouth and nose covered," said the doctor. "Until you're far enough from the palace. Perhaps the king will let you transport him in a covered carriage?"

Treville nodded. "I'll ask him." With that, he left the room.

Aramis gave a squawk at the indignity.

Porthos looked at him, before chuckling. "That's the best sound I've ever heard," he remarked. "You still have some spunk in there despite all this, eh Aramis?"

Aramis gave a slight smile.

When Treville came back, he found Aramis quietly resting, eyes closed...if the word 'quiet' could really be attributed to him with the awful sound of his restricted breathing. "The king agreed, after expressing shock at Aramis' survival. He was very shaken by what he witnessed."

No one was surprised...they felt the same way.

Aramis looked at him and opened his mouth to speak.

Treville held up a hand to stop him. "I conveyed your gratitude."

Aramis nodded his thanks.

"When will it be safe to move him?" Treville asked the doctor.

"He can go anytime," the man replied.

"How long will it be before he can actually breathe?" Porthos asked.

"The swelling is receding slowly, but it _is_ receding," said the doctor. "I wouldn't advise giving him anymore of the medicine because of arsenic's toxicity. Don't be surprised if he seems to fall ill: extreme fatigue, headache, or stomach pain are symptoms of arsenic poisoning. Kept him lying down and he'll be fine in a couple of days."

No one liked the sound of that, but they knew that it had been necessary to save Aramis' life.

Porthos stood and bent down to lift Aramis into his arms, but Aramis held up his hands to stop him. "Walk," he said, his voice a soft, painful croak.

"Walk?" Athos echoed, his usual stoicity melting away at the shocking request from their ailing friend. "How can you walk if you can't _breathe_?"

"I'm...walking!" Aramis answered.

Everyone looked at each other with exasperation, though they couldn't fault him for not wanting to be carried through the halls of the palace like an infant.

Treville knew that they would probably regret it, but he reached forward and helped Aramis sit up on the side of the bed, figuring they'd let him try and then carry him after he failed.

Aramis felt dizzy, the change in elevation reacting to the too-low amount of oxygen in his bloodstream.

Athos and Porthos squeezed his shoulders in support as they held him there until he was ready. When he started to move, they pulled him upright and each wrapped an arm around his back when Aramis dropped his head onto Porthos' shoulder.

"Take it easy," Porthos said again.

Aramis fought to resist his body's urge to breathe faster, knowing that it would only be harder to get more air past his swollen throat. He tried to inhale through his nose as his head spun, and he eventually reopened eyes that he hadn't realized he'd closed.

"You are very stubborn," Athos remarked.

"I...prefer...'strong willed'," Aramis managed to say.

Athos rolled his eyes and they helped Aramis out of the room.

The going was very, very slow. The exertion was making it harder for Aramis to breathe, but he wouldn't submit to being carried.

"You can't stop me from carryin' you after you pass out," said Porthos.

Aramis gave no reply, not wanting to waste air. He settled for sending him a glare, but it fell flat with his pale skin and heavy breathing.

Finally, after many stops along the way, they made it outside. The carriage was waiting, and Treville opened the door, letting Athos and Porthos deposit Aramis inside it.

Aramis slumped against the cushioned seat, closing his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. He felt someone else climb inside and he knew it was Athos and Porthos. He opened his eyes for a second and looked at them. "Didn't…pass out."

Porthos smiled and patted his shoulder. "No, you didn't. I don't know _how_ , but you didn't."

The carriage moved and Aramis closed his eyes again.

Time seemed to pass in an instant, for the carriage suddenly stopped and he was being pulled out. Aramis' hazy mind knew that they were home and he didn't protest when Porthos carried him that time. His realized that his head had started throbbing at some point in reaction to the overdose of arsenic, and he was asleep as soon as his head touched his pillow.

Aramis slept for hours. When he woke, he started to cough and he felt a cup touch his lips. He drank the tea, not even opening his eyes to see who was holding it, and fell back to sleep. That happened for the rest of the day and night, and when he finally reopened his eyes again, it was morning.

All three of his friends were sitting around his bed, and Aramis realized something: he could breathe.

"You look better," said d'Artagnan.

Aramis took a deep breath— _carefully_ —and though it wasn't up to his usual standard, it was easier than the previous day. "Thank God," he whispered.

"We did," Porthos commented.

"We also found _this_ ," said Athos, holding up a bottle of Aramis' medicine. "Rather, Captain Treville did, in the palace stable next to your horse. You somehow dropped it when we arrived yesterday."

Aramis shook his head with disbelief.

They fetched him more tea and fed him breakfast, and refused to let him get out of bed for the entire day. Aramis' breathing continued to improve, and that evening, something wonderful happened…

…it began to rain…and rain…and rain. It continued into the next morning, and they opened Aramis' shutters, allowing the fresh, clean air into the room.

Aramis was relieved beyond measure; the pollen that had been bothering him for weeks was finally being washed away, as was any lemongrass that still filled the air. His breathing grew even better, and by late afternoon, he felt nearly fine.

His friends still refused to let him get out of bed.

The rain stopped that evening but started up again overnight, and when it was still raining when Aramis woke the next day, he demanded to be let up. "I want to go outside!" he said. "It's been raining for two days! This is my best chance!"

The others saw no reason to stop him, considering the fact that they'd obeyed the doctor's orders to keep him lying down.

Aramis got out of bed, got dressed, and happily left his room.

The others followed him, each of them realizing that they could've been on their way to his funeral if things had turned out differently.

"How's your arm?" Athos suddenly asked, knowing that he'd never forget the drastic action that he'd taken to save his friend's life.

"It's fine," Aramis told him. "Doesn't even hurt."

Athos found that hard to believe, but he said nothing further.

Once outside, Aramis took a careful breath and looked up at the sky, blinking as the raindrops touched his face.

The sound of d'Artagnan chuckling got their attention, and they all looked at him. "April showers bring May pollen," he said. "But May rain makes Aramis whole again!"

Porthos groaned, and Athos stared at him in his usual emotionless, quiet fashion.

D'Artagnan frowned. "Was it _that_ bad?"

Aramis chuckled and put his uninjured arm around him with a *splat*. "Bad, but nonetheless true, my friend!"

THE END


End file.
